Safe behind your made-up wall. Refusing sleep and collecting your fluids in jars. Ignore the noise outside. In these adverse conditions you buried your dreams. Doesn't look at all like you wanted. We've been immortalized. If you cut up the stories, destroy the unwanted, we will find our supposed identities. Like a madman on film, it’s spread out on the walls. Full of promise, now it's dull and lifeless. The closer I get to this keyhole I've been staring through, field of vision expands and now you cannot hide. It's beautiful outside. So starve, and rake in dividends from your patented, cynical, bitter faith. Spit out wads of gray paper, you're so goddamn lucky to be unhappy. Perspective is the curse of the blessed. The closer I get to the abstract calling out our names, the colors all dissolve. It doesn't look quite right, but it's beautiful outside. It all looks stark when your eyes are open; prismatic when they're closed tight. Bury your head, hold onto the lies I never said. Get out.
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